Tuesday, July 5, 2022

What Is Wrong With the Mind Is What Is Wrong With the Poem

Periodic reminder my daughter will be my age in 2056
I stole a cooling rack from home to dry the flags I make
guaranteeing a flag won’t be made tonight, rack shamed
I am reading Diana Seuss’ *Frank* and Blake Butler’s *300,000,000*
screaming better than I can scream apocalypse at me so I won’t at you
2056, I’d be 97, laugh, my dad at 90 in fifteen days
got out what he paid into, my 42 years paid into stolen by 2026
I’d buy a ticket today to 2036 for my daughter

Top 2nd flag (and self-portrait) of one week in 2022, above 3rd flag, slamming the brakes now, laugh
Waiting for the reveal of a gun-murderer's political gender is America's Favorite Game Show!
Imperial narrative control has five elements (number three is underrated, yo)
Oligarchs' tools to disrupt the anti-oligarchs
The American public owns 20,000,000 AR-15s
Ecosocialism or barbarism?
Asynchronous wars & the technology of killing
My hometown helmetball team's owner
American Dragnet: date-driven deportation
L & I were driving north on 270 yesterday morning towards beloved Sugarloaf and watched at least three dozen mococop cars, pick-ups, vans, and one attack vehicle, lights on, zoom south on 270, and wondered the fuck? Here's the fuck
Maggie's weeklyFRESH HELL
Transgressing temporal hierarchies
Local toponymic pronunciations of NW Ohio
"Can there be pure narrative?"
{ feuilleton }'s weekly#1261 Get Out While You Can
The one thing that can save America
The best three hours of 4th of July music ever
RIP, Mike, you big bad bald bastard


Diane Seuss

Death does not exist in poetry. A line may fade into the silence past its breaking
but that is not death. No coking sounds in poems, no smell of blood. I can describe
the sounds, the smells, but description is, in fact, a hiding place. There is no nobility
in description. Is there nobility in poems? Let's hope not. Nobility is another place
to hide. "Through all these myriad felt and mostly scorned and disreputable realities,"
Alan wrote in a poem. I hope it is OK that I have quoted you, Alan. It is a poem
about love's nuance but Alan would agree there is no love in poems. There is no love
in a mushroom, in a handmade wedding dress. Not death in a funeral hankie
embroidered with the words "Try not to use it." I looked at the worm and I thought
it was an angel. I looked at an angel and thought it was a storm. What is wrong
with the mind is what is wrong with the poem. It is difficult to ge the news-
boy to be a newsboy. He keeps turning into a girl carrying a fish in a cloth delivery
bag to her grandmother who is really a wolf dressed as a grandmother singing a line
from Ulysses: "So stood they there both awhile in wanhope, sorrowing one with other."

1 comment:

  1. jussi palmusaari asks " If time is not a line stretching from the past to the future, chaining causes and effects, how can it form the horizon for strategical political action?"

    i seem to recall that i recently read that kurt vonnegut had claimed he had precognitive visions of his experiences in dresden that led to his novel slaughterhouse five - but right now i don't find where i read it - did i really read it? and if vonnegut said it, was it really true?

    it's a long and winding road - better to travel hopefully than to arrive, someone said